


Wake Up

by Merkwerkee



Series: Being Bruno Hamilton [5]
Category: Masters of the Metaverse
Genre: Gore, Whumptober 2019, dead dove do not eat, during his time in the Vietnam War, involuntary amputation, like pieces of people scattered over the landscape, medical ick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:14:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22855306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merkwerkee/pseuds/Merkwerkee
Summary: When your group is hanging on by a thread, you just gotta start stitching
Series: Being Bruno Hamilton [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1643020





	Wake Up

“Wake up!”

Pain lanced through Bruno as he gasped for air. Unfortunately, being facedown in a mud puddle was not conducive to getting the oxygen his lungs were screaming for, and Bruno rolled onto his back choking and spluttering. Around him the rain fell in sheets on the rest of the squad and the craters in the ground where the explosions had gone off. Three forms lay terribly still under the downpour, but others were already up and moving between those who were visibly still alive. He couldn’t say who had yelled at him, but now was certainly not the time to be resting.

Bruno coughed one more time, spitting out what he could of the mud, and rolled himself to his feet. A stitch of pain made itself known on his ribs every time he took too deep of a breath, but there wasn’t much to be done and he could walk it off. Wiping mud from his face, he picked his way over to the nearest groaning body.

Lieutenant Rodney Castor, fresh to the front and green as they got, whimpered as he held the remaining third of his left leg. Bruno wasted no time getting the tourniquet out of the basic medical kit and bending down to tie off the stump. The first touch had the LT screaming, but by the time Bruno had finished tightening it he’d passed into unconsciousness.

Bruno’s mouth set into a thin line as he went to check on the rest of the squad. He’d had a bad feeling about the game trail the kid had insisted they use to save time when the rain had started - it went in approximately the right direction and was considerably easier than making their way through the underbrush - but hadn’t objected when Castor’d pulled rank and insisted. The squad, consisting largely of FNGs and unused to the downpours of the region, had agreed enthusiastically with the LT’s plan and Bruno had done what he could and put one of the more experienced Cpls - Corporal Emmet Finely - at the front while he himself took the rear.

It hadn’t helped. Finely was one of the still forms, both legs and an arm missing. Bruno couldn’t say for sure what had happened, but judging from the smell hanging in the heavy rain he would guess Finely had missed the mines in the deluge - for all the mines had certainly not missed him.

It was almost twenty minutes before Bruno had restored some form of order, his ribs not letting him take the deep breath he needed to shout. In addition to Finely they’d lost PFCs Challonde and Fairview, and two more besides the LT were missing limbs. Of the walking wounded, the most serious was Cpl Edward Berge, who was missing an ear. Most of the rest were bruised, and Bruno wasn’t the only one walking carefully and taking shallow breaths.

The real problem was that they were still more than ten miles from their objective, and more than twice that from the nearest friendly outpost. Bruno crouched beneath the meager shelter offered by two hastily strung together branches and squinted at the maps he’d pulled from the LT’s pack.

Their target was a supply depot, and while they could possibly restock before blowing the place to kingdom come, none of them were anything more than field medics at best. Along the same train of thought, trying to get the injured to the friendly outpost - a field hospital - over the - he squinted - twenty seven miles of dense forest terrain was also unlikely to leave them long for the world. Especially the ones missing limbs.

“Sarge.”

Bruno looked up sharply into the ghost-white and mud-smeared face of PFC Gregor Daniels, who quailed under his dark look. “Yes, Daniels?” Bruno said, resisting the urge to snap when the man just shifted uncomfortably as the silence dragged on.

Daniels gulped. “Well, sir, there’s this girl I’m sweet on…” He trailed off as Bruno’s glare sharpened incredulously. The kid wanted to talk about the birds and the bees now?

“She’s not here, Daniels; tell me why I should care.” Bruno managed to keep his voice even, and Daniels straightened.

“Well, sir, she’s back at base, sir, but she told me once she had family out this way sir. Maybe they could help us, sir?”

Bruno stared for a long moment before gesturing to the maps. “Show me.” Daniels leaned over and poked the bend of a small creek less than three miles away as the crow flew. Bruno blew a sharp breath out through his nose and regretted it almost instantly as his ribs complained. It was a good spot, not too far out of their way, and while the amount of “help” available was an unknown quantity, if and only if necessary they could take what structures they found there by force with the remainder of their complement.

“Right. We need stretchers and volunteers to pull them. Leave the bodies for now. We’ll head to the farm and see what we find.” Daniels nodded frantically and scrambled away while Bruno himself went about organizing the teams and marching order. No one with broken ribs could carry or pull a stretcher for more than a half-hour at a time, with at least ten minutes of rest in between shifts; internal injuries after the fact were not on the agenda for the day. Anyone who didn’t have broken or cracked ribs could pull for longer, but needed at least half an hour between their turns.

By the time everyone had gotten sorted, the rain had slacked off considerably. Bruno took point, keeping a wary eye out for further mines, while the others ranged in a loose column behind him. When it came time for his shift at pulling a stretcher, he swapped places with Daniels and kept going.

It took them more than an hour to reach the waypoint; a small hut, a slightly larger shed, and the destroyed remnants of larger buildings in a loose square around a central well didn’t exactly inspire confidence but they were nearly out of options at this point. Bruno gestured to Daniels who moved up to flank him and they both walked over to the hut. Knocking had no effect, but Daniels’ shout produced movement from within and a wrinkled, mousy woman in a grey-blue dress opened the door to peer at them fearfully.

Bruno tried to be as sincere as he could as he made their case via Daniels - Bruno understood more than he spoke, which was an unfortunate circumstance he’d rectify later - but the woman still looked terrified. Daniels stepped forward and spoke to her too rapidly for Bruno to make out the words. She didn’t look too reassured, but finally relented and pushed the door open fully before heading back into the depths of the hut. Daniels turned to Bruno.

“She’ll let us stay here for a bit, sir. Not more than a few days, a week at most. But she’ll let us use what she has as long as some of us help in the fields and share resources.” Daniels had managed to lose his earlier uncertainty, Bruno noted with a faint sense of satisfaction, and while the deal wasn’t great it would have to do. He nodded sharply and headed back to bring the rest in.

With six down past walking, Bruno did what he could. Detailing Daniels and one other to uphold their end of the deal with the civilian in whose modest abode they were currently camped in was a no-brainer; after much consideration he sent Berge and PFC Mark Ericson to the field hospital to arrange for evac. That left him with Pfc Michael Babra, sporting bruises and broken fingers, to deal with their objective. Before first light, the two-man teams had slipped into the gloom of the jungle.

They had a job to do.


End file.
